There he was.
He didn't look anything like I had expected him to. I guess that makes sense, considering that nobody who made the pictures of Jesus had actually seen him. He looked more...normal than I had expected him to. He looked more like someone that I would hang out with.
But what am I saying? This is the king of the universe, the Alpha and the Omega. Why does he look so normal? Why does he look this way? In terms of appearance, he isn't very attractive. He just...is.
But, despite that, I can't help but stare at him. There is something about him, something so...ethereal. He looks welcoming, warm. He looks...he looks happy to see me.
Before I know what I am doing, I take a step forward. It is like my legs are controlling me. On some level I appreciate this, but on another level, I feel that it is inappropriate. Should I be approaching Jesus? Should I be wanting to go up to him?
The closer I get to him, the more guilty and regretful I feel. A million memories come rushing back to me. I remember the day I got baptized. I remember the Bible verses that I have read. I remember the nights where I had longed for my savior, crying into my pillow because I couldn't see him. I remember my mistakes. I remember my sins.
As all this comes rushing back, I halt. I can't go any further. I can't possibly approach the King after what I have done. Why would he want me? I don't even want me!
As I stop, I get down on my knees. My emotions are overwhelming. My anxiety, my sadness, my regret. My guilt; it all hits me like a steam engine. I can't go any farther. Tears are streaming down my cheeks. I shouldn't even be thinking about approaching the king.
And then he calls my name.
My face is buried in the ground, but when I hear him say that two syllable word, I lift my head. I see his feet. I can tell that he did a lot of walking while he was on Earth. I see his hands. His hands are clearly strong, what with all the carpentry work that he did. But that's not the only notable quality about his hands. I see the scars. They have partially closed, but they are there. They are both in the palm and on the backside.
I get up, and look into his face. For the first time in my whole life, I see my Savior's face clearly. His eyes were what really made that face stand out. The eyes were caring. They were empathetic. They were...friendly.
And then, I do it. I burst into tears and wrapped my arms around Jesus. I had imagined this hug multiple times in my past. I had always wanted this. I had imagined that I would hold onto him for what felt like forever. I would hold onto him, and I would never let go. I wouldn't want to let go. I don't want to let go.
I cry into his robe. My sobs come out with my breaths, they are painful and strained. Yet they are most definitely real. I can feel my heart aching, as if it is calling out to the King of the universe.
Then he says my name again.
I lift my head and look into his eyes, but I can't stop crying. Jesus looks sad as well, sad for me. He reaches out his hand and wipes the tears from my face. While his hands were strong like I suspected, they were also gentle. After he finished, he hugged me again. His embrace is so warm.
"I've been waiting for this day for all of eternity," he says.
I start sobbing again. His voice is so beautiful.
"I am so sorry!" I sob.
Jesus holds on tighter. I can tell that he doesn't want to let me go. Then, when he finally does, he smiles at me.
"Well done, good and faithful servant." He reached out and dried my tears again. "Welcome home."